


Twist the Rope

by dendraica



Category: Brave (2012), Dragons: Riders of Berk (Cartoon), How to Train Your Dragon (2010)
Genre: Bigotry, F/M, Forbidden Love, Language Barrier, Prisoner of War, War, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2017-12-10 08:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dendraica/pseuds/dendraica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tuffnut is cast down from the skies as a solo flight ends in disaster. Found injured and alone, he is mistaken for one of the savage Norsemen that have been devastating the villages and monasteries of Scotland's coast. When he is brought to Castle DunBroch,  Merida makes a daring request to save him from execution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The battle ended with the Norsemen drawing their ships back out on the tide – not so much retreating, as smugly sailing off with the prize they’d come for. 

Lord MacGuffin watched the ships sail away, eyes narrowed in anger. His men had slain many Norsemen that night, but it hadn’t been enough to save Lindisfarne. They’d burned the abbey to the ground, escaping with church treasures and prisoners. These holy brothers had been good men – and they had all been cut down, drowned, or enslaved. 

Bloody _heathens._

It didn’t ease his heart any that they had arrived so late into the battle – the monastery’s bells had ceased ringing in distress long before their fastest horses could have reached the abbey. Even the Vikings they’d managed to crush in combat had died smiling, heading toward what they believed was their beloved Valhalla. God, could he have but seen their faces when they realized to which blazing hearth they were _really_ headed for!

A shout from one of his warriors dragged his gaze from the sea. 

“My Lord, we’ve found one of their ilk wandering the shore! He’s been left behind!” the man reported, and MacGuffin smiled. 

“Good,” he said, dismounting from his warhorse, Iona. “Show him to me.” Lord MacGuffin followed the man over to the shoreline, eyes surveying what his warriors had cornered between them and the ocean. 

The boy was disheveled and in pain, holding his arm close to his chest, but he was anything but pleading. Stubborn and prideful, he shouted questions or demands at the surrounding warriors, trying to gesture with his good hand. His eyes were cold grayish blue and he had seaweed and blood in his long unkempt hair. That plus the skins and horned helmet made him look too deranged to be anything else but one of the murderers who’d attacked the abbey.

Lord MacGuffin frowned as more torchlight was brought closer to their prisoner. Was the blood his own, or some poor unarmed monk's? 

“Take him to the horses. We’ll make heads turn with the example we make of this _fiend!_ ” he ordered. Lord MacGuffin was known as a fair and level-headed leader, but this lad didn’t deserve mercy. He’d taken innocent lives, and despite the fact that he was apparently no older than his own son, the boy had to understand that capture for his kind meant dishonorable death. 

He shouted as the warriors advanced and took ahold of him, pain flashing over his face. How had he not been expecting that? The boy was looking oddly panicked and locked eyes with him, speaking fast in his native language, tone confused and bewildered as the men started to drag him toward the pack horses. He had recognized MacGuffin as the leader, but what was this odd behavior for? 

The boy wasn’t pleading, he was . . . _arguing._

Lord MacGuffin gestured at the smoldering abbey, the corpses on the ground, the spilled treasure that hadn’t made it to the longboats. He gave the boy a long look and was met with a blank stare. Was the lad a simpleton? Ah no, there . . . he’d gotten it. 

Shaking his head frantically, he pointed across the ocean in a different direction than the longboats had departed. He looked at the ruins of the monastery and shook his head again. Now he looked as though he was going to be ill. Was the boy really thinking he could fool anyone? Lord MacGuffin almost pitied him. 

“Came in a different direction, is that what you’re trying to pull? On a different longboat, I’ll wager.” A few of his men snorted at the ridiculous notion. “Where’s your boat then? I don’t see it! Ohhh, I get it now, you didn’t do any of this! Nay, you missed the battle because your boat sank!”

His men were full out laughing now. It was good to hear after the events of this night. They all needed the morale. 

The boy was looking around at them, utterly crestfallen. MacGuffin shook his head, chuckling himself. “Lad, you’re in deeper trouble than you could ever imagine. Let’s not add lying _right to my face_ on top of all the rest, aye? Take him now, before he comes up with any other stupid tales.”

Their prisoner put up a fight as he was manhandled over one of the warrior’s saddles onto his stomach, ankles tied and wrists lashed behind his back. The man put a bracing hand on the small of his back, keeping him from sliding off. 

The horse took off and MacGuffin saw the boy’s eyes fly wide open in shock and fear. He cried out something in Norse, and writhed, nearly succeeding in flinging himself beneath the hooves of the beast he was on. It occurred to MacGuffin that the lad was more terrified of the _horse_ than of where they might be taking him. 

It was odd, but of no real consequence. The lad was going to have to get used to it when they made the trip to DunBroch.

\--------------------------------------

Talking. All this talking, and he didn’t even know what they were _saying._

Tuffnut was curled on his side in the cell they’d locked him up in – a round dark stone room with only a tiny barred window, a basin of water, and pallet of straw. 

This place was terrifying and it didn’t make sense. He could understand carving something like the Great Hall out of a mountain cave, but not taking a pile of rocks and sculpting it into a weird . . . square and also round jagged thing. How did the wooden beams keep all this rock up anyway? 

And it was so _cold._ Not as cold as Berk could get in devastating winter, but cold enough that he wouldn’t be able to sleep. 

This was all Fishlegs’ fault. He’d been the one to suggest switching up dragons, so they got used to riding different mounts if the need arose. Hiccup had thought it was brilliant, so for a week that was all they’d been doing; just riding everyone else’s dragon.

Except for Toothless, though - he had been having none of it. All Tuffnut had learned about the Nightfury was that if you tried to get on him, he just flopped down on his belly and growled in irritation. If you poked him enough, he’d roll over on you and try to smear you into the grass, but that was about it. 

Still, it had been sort of cool to not have to share a dragon with his sister, as much as he loved Barf and Belch. And her, of course, not that he’d ever say that out loud. Tonight, he’d been riding Hookfang, who was completely awesome when he actually decided to listen to you. 

They’d only been supposed to go around or near Berk, but Hookfang had met another Monstrous Nightmare on the wing and he’d followed _her_ , ignoring all of Tuffnut’s attempts to get back in control of the flight. It had been very boring, nothing but clouds and ocean and more clouds, and Tuff had actually dozed off a little. 

He’d woken to panicked roaring and thick smoke from flaming boats. Something had hit them and down they’d gone, Hookfang setting himself alight to try and burn off what looked like black pitch and debris on his wing. Tuff had been thrown from the saddle and hit in the face by a lashing tail, spinning into a freefall. He had woken to sand up his nose, a sharp pain in his arm, and a lot of spears in his face. 

And then he'd been laughed at when he tried to ask where he was, and why everyone wanted to kill him when he hadn't even _done anything._

Oh, and those _things_ with the teeth and hooves and hair . . . ugh. Tuffnut had seen pictures of horses, but he hadn't known how bad they smelled or how awful it was to actually ride on them. Dragons were so much better.

He settled his aching shoulder against the cold stone wall, pressing the rest of his arm against it. It made him shiver, but the chill helped with the pain somewhat. Utilizing something that sucked to make something else suck less was actually kind of smart. He took comfort that he’d scored a tiny point against his captors. 

Tuffnut wrapped his fingers around his tooth pendant. This wouldn't be so terrible if Ruffnut was able to talk to him. If she could somehow glean where he was and send rescue. People should be able to talk in dreams. It was a foolish thought, but he still longed to hear her voice. 

He was trying to think bravely, like any Viking would, and not admit how scared he was. Not even to himself. Tuffnut defiantly swallowed any tears that managed to escape during this line of thought. 

Eventually, morning _would_ come. And maybe he’d get to dream until then. 

\--------------------------------------


	2. Chapter 2

To say that her mother often worried over nothing would be a vast understatement. Merida had been slogging through the provincial languages all last month, and now Elinor was teaching a Scottish dialect that only one person had ever uttered in their court. And she was nitpicking every single accent that Merida got wrong until the girl had finally had enough. 

“Mum, that’s it. I’m done. I’m ready for sewing.” 

“Merida – this lesson is not so bad that you’ll be flinging yourself into martyrdom.” 

“No, the language is really quite interesting, but you – you are fussing! Why do you even care about this? Only Lord MacGuffin’s son--”

“Keir MacGuffin,” Elinor interjected, tiredly. 

“Ugh, _Keir_ MacGuffin then, is the only one who speaks it. Why do I have to know?”

“Because he was one of your suitors and he deserves to be respected. Like the others, to an extent,” the Queen replied. Merida was instantly suspicious. 

“Are you trying to say you favor him out of all the others?” 

“Well, no. Of course not. I’d never say such a thing.” She was obviously hedging, and before Merida could pounce on it, Elinor was already answering her first question. “Merida, if I seem to be forcing trivial issues or paying excessive attention to detail, it is because the raids along our coast are making me nervous. The Norsemen have been lured by the treasures of the monasteries and isolated villages. Life holds no regard for them – they will kill anything and anyone to get to the gold. It . . . troubles me.” 

“Dad and the other Lords can beat back anything that crawls belly-first onto our shores, Mum,” Merida snorted, but her tone gentled when she saw how worried the older woman looked. She scooted her chair closer and took her mother’s hands. “It’ll be alright. Really. Maybe what the monasteries need are weapons and armed men, and then the Vikings won’t be so tempted.” 

“Armed men and weapons? Can you see the monks even thinking to agree to that? It makes perfect sense logically, and I half wish they would take some measure, but it’s not their way. You can’t make fish to learn how to fly, in order to avoid all the sharks in the water.” 

Elinor looked at Merida searchingly. “And you should not blame them for drawing the Norsemen. It’s those Norsemen who are heartless enough to kill and capture those holy men, who have vowed to never take up arms against another man. Merida, I wish to appoint you a bodyguard when you go out into those woods.”

The last sentence was so unexpected that all Merida could do was squeak for a moment. 

Elinor silently counted to three, and her daughter did not disappoint. “WHAT?!” she all but shrieked, snatching her hands away from Elinor’s as though they burned. Merida stood up quickly, nearly knocking the chair backwards. “You can’t! I – you don’t understand! I get one day a week – _one day_ when I don’t have to be trailed by anyone, when I don’t have to be _me_ , and you’re taking that away?!”

“No, I’m not taking it away.” 

“But you’re sticking me with a guard!” Merida cried, beyond distressed. “Someone who’ll follow me around yelling at me not to climb things, or ride too fast, or even walk off the path - lest I stub my wee toe!” she huffed in disgust. She looked further scandalized by her mother laughing. 

“I’m not appointing a _nursemaid_ to you, Merida! A bodyguard is someone who you trust to stand beside you if there’s trouble. Who has your trust. He’ll be more of a friend than a nuisance, and furthermore _you’ll_ be the one who chooses him.” 

“Me? I get to choose him?” Merida asked, considering. 

“Aye, it’s your choice. But mind you -”

“Done! I choose Angus.” 

“Oh _Merida_! You can’t choose a steed to be your bodyguard!” Elinor said, frustrated she hadn’t anticipated that answer. 

“You said anybody!” her daughter countered. 

“I said . . . oh, forget what I _said_ , I meant someone human and you know it! If you wish it, there could be a tournament -”

“Oh no. No more tournaments! No more men prancing about, trying to impress me by doing ridiculous feats. You know what it’ll turn into – another contest for my hand in marriage!”

To her surprise, Elinor sighed in relief. “Yes, Merida, that thought did cross my mind. I’m glad it crossed yours too. No tournament. It would only be darkened anyhow by what’s to occur this night.” 

That got Merida’s attention. She sat back down, reading the other woman’s face carefully. “What do you mean by that?”

\-------------------------------------------

{Well, he’s a sorry sight, isn’t he?} 

The voice startled him out of sleep. Tuffnut looked up at the slit in the metal door, blinking in the morning light. Great, another one had come to gawk at him. He was tempted to make a rude gesture, but his arm still hurt and all the really great ones needed both hands.

{Sleep well, lad? Tonight you’ll be experiencing the part of battle you missed out on!}

{Aye, the part where we separate your head from your shoulders!}

Were they trying to be encouraging? What was going on? Tuffnut settled for making a face at them, and was not encouraged by their amused laughter. The men seemed to leave off tormenting him, carrying on in their language down the hall. He rolled his eyes and settled his back against the wall, quietly unnerved. 

It turned out he had good reason to be. 

Not more than a minute later, the door actually opened. Tuffnut scrambled to his feet, but the men that walked in were quick to detain him, pressing him down to sit against the wall. He felt his injured arm stretched out and he shouted in pain, attempting to kick the nearest warrior, but this resulted only in being sat on. 

At least he could curse to his heart’s content and he wouldn't get hit for it, since nobody understood what he was saying. One small perk was better than none. 

A band of long stiff fabric was wrapped from his wrist to his elbow, with two pieces of wood as splints. They were attempting to fix his arm? Tuffnut felt indignant and relieved; if they had tried to make their intentions understood he wouldn't have lashed out. 

Abruptly, he was pulled up by his arms and forced out of the cell. _Finally._ Wait . . . where were they taking him now? He dug his heels into the floor which was an exercise in futility – there was no traction here. Even their floors were made of stone. Were these people descended from _dwarves?!_

Tuffnut made it outside without biting anyone, but when the smell hit him and he heard the nickering, he completely panicked. No. He was _not_ getting near one of those again. Tuffnut mule-kicked the guard behind him in the stomach and sunk his teeth into the hand of another. They shouted and he dropped, scurrying between legs and poorly-aimed kicks and breaking into a run. He didn't get very far. 

All around him were walls of stone – the opening was in a completely different direction than he’d started running. And then he ran into a different kind of wall, colliding head-on with the boy. Tuff reeled back from the collision and hit the ground, glowering up into a curious expression that oddly reminded him of ‘Legs. 

{Since when does a Norseman run away from anything?} the boy asked, and Tuffnut raised his hands in angry bewilderment, wishing he knew what the hell these people were _saying_. Then the warriors were upon him, angrily bundling him back off toward those _things_. 

Keir looked after them, quietly thoughtful. 

\-------------------------------------


	3. Chapter 3

The ride was a hellishly long one, and it was worse on his arm. Hours went by like days and every time the Clan stopped to rest their mounts, Tuffnut tried his best to make someone understand that he wanted _off the damned horse._ He wasn’t foolish enough to hope they’d actually let him down, but the struggle to communicate helped to take his mind off his suffering.

They had forced him to ride face-down over the saddle for his earlier attempt to escape, tying him securely to it. Tuffnut could feel every jolt of the horse’s hooves resonating in his injury, not to mention his stomach. Several times he’d wondered if he could just pass out. 

It was sunset by the time they’d reached their destination – another of those stupid rock-buildings. This one was even bigger, so it would probably be colder. Tuffnut could only glimpse it sideways and he was not impressed. He struggled anew against the ropes holding him, and as usual they didn’t give an inch. Being exhausted and in pain probably had a lot to do with it. 

“Why did you take me to this stupid place?” he complained, since it was the only thing he could do. Even if they couldn’t understand him, at least this way he could hear his own voice talking sense. It was raspy since they hadn’t given him water, but stubbornness was stronger than thirst. “I mean, didn’t we leave a pile of rocks _just like it_ this morning?”

His words brought amused looks and laughter from the other men.

{I can’t understand what he’s saying,} said one to his companion. {Was that an insult?}

{It sounded like it from the tone. The sound of his language is interesting; too bad we can’t find someone who speaks Norse. I wish to ken his last words.}

They were talking now, since Tuffnut had broken the silence. Not to him, but all around him, probably _about_ him. It filled him with anger, terror, and despair. Tuffnut longed to scream at them until they understood – he just wanted to go _home._ Swallowing dryly, he looked at the ground as it flew past, blurring in his vision. 

Tuffnut desperately thought of Hookfang, hoping against hope that the dragon had somehow made his way back to Berk. Maybe Hiccup and the others were on their way right now, following Hookfang’s lead. 

More than likely the easily distracted Nightmare would dally, chasing butterflies and admiring squirrels as he slowly made his way back to the island. But even then, the others would have been searching for him, right? Dragons could cover vast distances, but Tuffnut didn’t know how long he and Hookfang had traveled. Nothing looked familiar, certainly not the dress code. 

They were in an area where summer existed for one thing; there weren’t even any melting patches of snow. And all these men were wearing light fabric (skirts even!) with confusing colors and lines – it hurt Tuffnut’s eyes to look at the pattern for long. 

He felt a hand wrap around his good arm, steadying him as the horse stopped. Tuffnut hated the abrupt stops even worse than the galloping, as those usually threw him against the pommel. He was going to have more bruises on his ribs from this than his sister had given him in a month. 

Fingers were working at his bonds now and he took an elated breath. Finally! He’d wait until the bonds gave enough, then he’d make another run for it. Of course, _that_ didn’t happen except in his fondest dreams. Tuffnut could barely move his limbs even after the man had let the rope fall to the ground. 

He growled to himself and slid off the saddle, ignoring the shouts from the warrior who’d been mounted behind him. The meaning behind the foreign words suddenly rang clear as Tuffnut’s calf muscles seized. Yelling in pain, Tuff toppled to the ground, curling up on his side as the cramps swept through his body like wildfire. 

\-----------------------------------------

“Heh, would you look at that idiot.” 

Lord MacGuffin rolled his eyes at the statement, coming from the stout man beside him – otherwise known as Lord Dingwall. “What else could you expect from a savage culture like his? Norsemen aren’t known for their intellect.” 

“You’re certainly right about that.” Dingwall sighed, then. “MacGuffin, laws are laws, but I’m ashamed we have to do this. He’s just a lad.” 

“A lad who helped kill thirty monks and burn down the abbey. He knew what he was signing up for when he sailed across those waters. Even if he didn’t spill a drop of blood, he clearly wanted to.” 

“Really now? That’s what he said when you asked him?” 

“No, of course not. How could I have? He only speaks that flittering Norse of his,” scoffed MacGuffin. It was Lord Dingwall’s turn to roll his eyes. 

Tuffnut was still on the ground, panting and trying very hard to ignore the laughing warriors. Several of them were even mimicking his show of pain – howling, falling over, and clutching their legs. Face red with shame, he closed his eyes, needing no grasp of the language to understand he was being ridiculed. Dingwall caught the crestfallen look and started to walk over to the boy.

The warrior’s antics abated as they stood aside respectfully for the aged man, whereas before they might have openly mocked him. All the once bickering Lords had united their forces after the princess’ speech, just in time to better combat the worsening threat of invading Norsemen. 

They were a ruthless enemy, but if Lord Dingwall had learned anything in his years of combat, it was that not all people shared their culture’s worst traits. Maybe the boy had shed blood, and maybe he hadn’t. Regardless, he was being forced to pay for the crimes of all his people tonight, so humiliating him seemed just a little excessive.

“Here, lad; I don’t speak Norse, but I understand about dignity. Get up if you can.” Lord Dingwall offered his hand, to the murmuring astonishment of all. Tuffnut hesitated, but reached for the man’s hand as though expecting it to be yanked out of reach at the last moment. He was surprised when the man actually gave aid, helping him up to his feet. 

Lord Dingwall brushed the dirt off his back, an act which made Tuff flinch a little, but he didn’t attempt to jerk away – his legs were still shaky. MacGuffin let out a roar which nearly made him jump out of his skin. 

“Ach, what’s the sense of all this? You’re only prolonging his suffering, now let’s get him inside!” 

The elder Lord patted Tuffnut’s shoulder before the boy was hustled away. “Easy on, lad. It’ll be swift and you’ll be in Valhalla before you can blink twice!” he called after, and the only word Tuffnut understood from that at all was ‘Valhalla’. The man hadn’t pronounced it right but he was more concerned with the fact it had been mentioned at all. Panic crawled up his throat and made him struggle in vain against the hold on him. 

“Well _now_ he’s got the boy nice and riled,” grumbled the warrior on his right. They entered a room full of light and noise and _people_ and Tuffnut went limp in their arms, eyes darting around the room to try and guess his fate. 

\-------------------------------------------

“It’s not too late, Merida,” Elinor was saying as they approached the hall. Merida walked beside her, fairly thrumming with nervous energy. 

She had never seen an execution, and in her father’s rule it was carried out sparingly. But this was a public death of their most hated enemy, of an enemy that had killed women and children and had done deplorable things to people. It would raise eyebrows if she was not present, at her age. 

That didn’t mean her mother wasn’t going to try and talk her out of going. “I can say you’ve taken to bed, you do look a bit pale.” 

“No, Mum, I’ll see this through. Maudi’s got enough on her plate keepin’ the triplets contained.”

“Merida . . .” Elinor sighed. “I _do_ wish . . .” 

“Oh, I know. I don’t want to see this either, not really. But I’ve got to, haven’t I? He’s a . . . a threat to our people. And I’ll look him in the eye as he dies for it.” 

Merida couldn’t help but realize that she sounded a lot braver than she felt. It wasn’t the blood that would bother her. It was the fact she was going to have to be cold and uncaring that a man was going to be killed right in front of her.

Elinor turned and hugged her tightly. “I am proud of you, my girl. And I’m sorry.” She stepped back, regaining her smooth composure almost immediately, and Merida wondered how many executions _Elinor_ had seen in her life. 

The question died on her lips as they walked up to their seats. It wasn’t the time to ask. Merida sat on the left side of her father, her mother sat on his right. Fergus tried to give both of them a reassuring smile. He didn’t look surprised to see his daughter had chosen to attend, but there was a sorrow there in his eyes. Her father raised his head and called for the prisoner to be brought in. 

They were going to behead him, Merida had been told. There was a wooden platform off to the side, sprinkled liberally with sawdust to catch the blood. An axe waited ominously beside the grooved block that the man would lay his head across.

She suppressed a shudder, looking away from it. Her mother couldn’t be pleased that they were doing this inside the castle. No, she was steadfastly _not_ smiling at Fergus, even as he tried meaningless small talk. 

She looked to the door, attempting to look collected. MacGuffin strode in with Keir at his side, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else. Merida felt a pang of sympathy for him and then looked for the prisoner. Her jaw nearly dropped, not expecting what she saw. 

The poor boy was nearly being supported by his two handlers, eyes moving frantically across the room, searching for either escape or some form of comfort. For a moment, his gray blue eyes locked with hers, nearly pleading. Merida was clenching the arms of her chair, scarcely able to stand it. She could not watch this, she absolutely could _not._

Out of the corner of her eye she saw her mother stiffen as well, shooting a glare at Fergus. “You said they had captured a Norseman, covered in the blood of monks,” she whispered reproachfully. “A mad raving lunatic who tried several times to escape!”

“ . . . well, obviously, _someone_ exaggerated,” Fergus muttered unhappily. 

While it was good to see she wasn’t the only one bothered by this, Merida longed to beg her father to call all of this off and to spare the boy. But what could he do? A King could not back down from decreeing the execution his people had cried out for, whether or not they’d possessed all the facts at the time. Her father was not a cruel man, nevertheless he couldn’t stop this from happening now that it had gotten this far. 

Merida’s mind raced as Lord MacGuffin began recounting the tale that led to the capture of the enemy, trying to build everyone up. Behind him the boy gave up his struggle and bent forward slightly, looking ready to either throw up or pass out. It rather spoiled the effect of the brave tale for her, she thought, but the other men seemed to be lapping it up. 

They roared in approval at certain parts of the tale, which seemed to shock the boy out of his panic. Merida watched him, rather than MacGuffin, silently wondering what he was thinking.

\--------------------------------------------

If Tuff had ever wondered how the dragons felt when they had been introduced to their killer, with a mob of screaming Vikings cheering in the background, he now had his answer. His hands tightened into fists, as he fought to gain control over his panicked breathing. 

Tuffnut had already seen the axe, and the block. He knew what they were there for because of their placement, all set out for a show. _He_ was supposed to be part of that show. They were going to kill him for amusement, and even worse – he’d actually done nothing to deserve it. 

So far, these warriors had forcibly taken him to this place, had humiliated, frightened and hurt him, all for what? It would be a dishonorable death, to be dragged over to that block and beheaded as though he were a chicken slated for dinner. No. If he was going to die, he would not die like _this._

Where there had been fear, there was now rage. Tuffnut grit his teeth and did what he did best during a fight; he threw off the enemy. 

The warriors felt him suddenly go deadweight and they adjusted their grip, both leaning in to check if he’d fainted. A blow to the knee bested one, and he’d had the dagger out of the other’s belt, slicing wildly at him. The warrior jumped back with a shout, going for his own weapon, but Tuffnut was already charging another, who was carrying a spear. Daggers weren’t Tuff’s weapon; he preferred the spear since it gave the most distance and leverage for his speed and build. 

Besides, most of the warriors here had swords, they would knock the dagger from his hand in seconds. He rolled and dodged grasps, moving like an eel in the rushes, delivering fast blows where he could. One young painted man charged him with a yell, doing a whole lot of fancy sword moves. 

Tuffnut dodged them easily, almost amused by the show – the guy even did an over the shoulder toss with the blade. He tilted his head, not certain whether his fancy opponent wanted to fight or if he wanted applause. His response was to simply bring his leg up, kicking the young warrior where it counted. 

As the young man squeaked and fell over, Tuffnut launched over him and grabbed a hold of the spear-bearer, delivering a head butt that sent the other man reeling. He spun himself, dealing blows to anyone who came within range and careful to not waste his energy. Adrenaline was the only thing really keeping him upright and focused right now, but he was going to give them a _show_ that they would remember _forever._

\----------------------------------------------

Merida had half-climbed onto her seat, elation warring with dread as to the fate of the Norse boy. He fought like a wounded wolf, all traces of his earlier fatigue and despair gone. Had he been wily enough to fake it? She was doubtful of that – Merida had watched a sort of transformation take over his expression as Lord MacGuffin spun his tale. 

But the boy couldn’t hope to hold his advantage forever. One of his arms was clearly broken, and already he was slightly stumbling from fatigue. He narrowly dodged an attack, hitting the man square between the eyes with the butt of his spear. Over the shouts and curses of the men, the moaning of young Macintosh, and the clack of weapons, Merida heard her mother’s voice. “Fergus, do something!” 

Her father shrugged helplessly at Elinor, but then sighed and started to stand. Merida beat him to it, eyes alight with sudden inspiration. She knew what to do now. 

“STOP!” she yelled, forcibly enough that all eyes at least briefly turned to her. Merida only hoped the boy was too exhausted to try and take advantage of the inaction. She was honestly amazed he hadn’t killed anyone. Weren’t Norsemen supposed to be bloodthirsty? Ruthless murderers? “Stay your hands! This boy, this _Norseman_ , will not be executed!”

“He won’t?” Fergus asked, blinking. 

“Merida!” Elinor hissed. “What are you -- ” Her mother gasped then, working out quickly what Merida intended to do. 

“Because I choose him as my bodyguard!”

There was silence for a handful of moments. Then everyone raised their voices in argument all at once. 

“You can’t be serious, Princess!” Lord Macintosh protested, helping his dazed son up. “He’s a savage beast! Unintelligent, dull, animalistic-”

“Well, he just showed _quite a bit_ of intelligence in getting the upper hand,” Merida countered. She heard the gasps and knew she was bordering on insult. 

“By fighting dirty, of course. Which is how Norsemen fight, isn’t that correct? The reason I need a bodyguard at all, which I’m sure you’ve all been informed of, in case I chose any of you-” It was a correct assumption; her mother was nervously clearing her throat. “It’s _because_ of these Nordic invaders. So who better to defend me than someone who can match their style?”

“Princess, that makes sense. But how do you propose to communicate that with _him?_ ” Lord MacGuffin questioned, gesturing towards Tuffnut. The boy was panting, aware something was going on behind him, but not about to turn his back on his former captors to find out what. Merida opened her mouth to answer, but then realized she had none. She was not aware of her mother getting up, until Queen Elinor was standing beside her. 

“Mum, I -”

“We’ll talk later,” was her mother’s terse reply. She looked at Tuffnut and said something in a language Merida had never heard her speak before. 

\----------------------------------------

Tuffnut froze at the simple words, almost too afraid to turn around. He did anyway, staring at the tall woman. 

“What . . .?” 

“I said, put down your weapon. You will have nothing to fear,” Elinor said. Tuff glanced nervously at the axe and the block and back to her, silently seeking a promise. The woman’s eyes softened. “I swear it. You won’t be put to death if you do exactly as I say. I need that promise from you.” 

Tuffnut nodded, hearing his language spoken was significantly calming. The only bad thing was that it was allowing the anger to slip away. Anger was all he had left to keep the crippling terror and pain at bay. “Anything, just . . . please, I don’t want to die just now. I have a sister, I have a home. I just want to go _home._ ” 

Something like sorrow briefly passed over Queen Elinor’s face. “I’m sure you do,” was all she said. She beckoned him to approach her and the red-headed girl by her side. Tuffnut might have leered at her if he were in a better situation; he’d never seen hair that color. It was pretty, like fire.

Instead he moved forward, dropping the spear and stumbling slightly. Elinor put a hand on his shoulder, steadying him or simply keeping him there. “You will need rest, and a healer for your injuries. There will be more talk in the morning. Can you kneel?”

“I . . . think so?” 

“Then do it now, quickly.” 

Awkwardly, not sure if he’d be able to get up again, Tuffnut did as she asked, having to brace his hands against the floor at the onset of dizziness. Elinor raised her voice, addressing the men behind him. He watched blood roll down his arm in fat droplets, from a gash he wasn’t even aware he’d received. 

 

\-------------------------------------------

“He has agreed to the proposition of being my daughter’s bodyguard. I know there is much doubt and worry about this arrangement, and I agree with you that it needs work. However, his knowledge of Norse language and war tactics may prove to save my daughter’s life, along with his skill with fighting.”

“My lady, I must still protest. You trust him too easily; this could have all been a plot to impress yourself and the princess!”

“Lord MacGuffin, if this boy has managed to predict my daughter’s actions so flawlessly, then he will have an _enormous_ advantage in keeping her safe.” There were knowing chuckles accompanying this, and Merida rolled her eyes, willing to be slightly ribbed if it meant the boy would live. 

“Furthermore, she won’t be going anywhere with him, or without him, until they understand each other’s languages. Perfectly.”

Merida just managed to keep from throwing a fit at that. She was looking at language lessons day and night, and she’d study Norse until she was bluer in the face than Lord Macintosh, the sooner it meant she could ride Angus through the fields and woods again. Oh her poor Angus, how he would chafe to go running for however long this took. She only hoped the boy was a fast learner. 

Glancing at him she gasped to see that he was nearly white and slightly shaking. Elinor noticed as well and her eyes widened marginally. “I’m sure there’s many other of your concerns to address, but for now, I invite you to enjoy our hospitality and our wine.” 

The voices that raised still in protest were drowned out by cheering. 

“I’ll drink to no more bear stories!” one of the Dingwall clansmen shouted, earning a dark look from Fergus. At this rate, there was going to be another one of the famous brawls of Castle DunBroch. Merida could feel the temperature drop as her father said something similar about the _tall tales_ of the Dingwall Clan, and she decided they better make good their escape.

Her mother had coaxed the boy to his feet, on which he stood unsteadily. She was either talking lowly or simply making soothing noises, and the poor lad was obviously in need of such kindness. Merida walked on his other side as they left the hall and all the shouted arguments behind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Just a quick one: Scotland used to be called Skotland by the Norse, and still today in Faroese and Icelandic. (Source: http://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/Skotland) I promise, I do have reasons for spelling it the way I did. ;)

A fond saying on Berk was that the peril you leave behind you is what makes you shiver the hardest. Being brave going into battle was an easy thing. The aftermath of surviving it was quite another. He really should have been dead by now. Sure, maybe his actions would have ensured him a place in Valhalla, but he’d still be dead. 

The memory of that axe, just waiting next to the block . . . Tuff tried to will the thought away but the image was there, imprinted behind his eyelids. They had been about to _behead him_. Would it have hurt? How long would he have been horribly aware until he died? Would his body have flailed around in the sawdust, to everyone’s amusement? 

Yet the girl had spoken up, said _something_ that made everything stop. And her mother . . . why did she know his language? Tuffnut couldn’t imagine a woman who looked less Viking. Everything she wore was made of soft, heavy material that seemed impossible to run or walk in and she carried no weapon. The girl at least had a dagger at her waist. 

Elinor said a few words, though not to him, beckoning instead to a couple of women carrying laundry. They looked at him and recoiled, except for one who answered in alarm, putting down her basket. She honed in on them, too fast for his comfort; Tuffnut backed away. Elinor’s hand squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. 

“She won’t harm you. Her name is Ailsa – she’s very good with cleaning wounds and with bone-setting.” 

“Bone setting?” Tuff muttered uneasily. He held his arm across his chest protectively. 

“It will be alright,” Elinor said soothingly. Before Tuffnut could protest further, the women were already leading him into a high-chambered room and toward the narrow bed - if that’s what one called a bed. It looked too soft. As Gobber liked to say, any bed too soft to spring up from, battle-ready, wasn’t a bed you wanted to sleep on. He would sink into that soft thing and be stuck there. 

Elinor was attempting to get him to do something, but Tuffnut wasn’t following – too dazed with fear and pain to even think straight. Two of the women tried to gently push him there, talking in sugary sweet tones. He stumbled away from them, unnerved.

 _Gothi_ wasn’t this nice when you were injured. Gothi ordered you around, and got the job done fast and whether or not she was nice about it, you still healed up alright in the end. These ladies, while they appeared to have good intentions, did not exactly scream ‘efficient’. 

Red suddenly filled his vision and the girl was leading him by the shoulders toward a table, casually kicking aside the chair. She pointed to him and then to the wooden surface meaningfully. 

Tuffnut sat on the table, too overwhelmed to argue, and made a noise of alarm as Merida pushed him onto his back. She carefully stretched his arm out to the side, unbinding the rest of the wrapping that had gotten covered with blood and grime in the fight. Letting it fall to the floor, she gripped wrist and elbow and demonstratively gave a light tug. It sent a sharp pain up to his shoulder, but it let him know what was coming. _This_ girl was no-nonsense about things at least. 

{ _Merida_ , what on earth . . .} Elinor was surprised at her daughter’s bedside manner.

{Mum, if it were me, frightened out of me wits, I’d just want to have it all done and over with. Aisla, come here. Effie, we’ll need a bowl of hot water, a clean cloth, some needle and thread.}

He couldn’t understand a thing she was saying, but she at least _sounded_ like she knew what she was doing. Carefully, she tugged off his vest and another woman stepped in to help divest him of his tunic. Cold and anxious, Tuffnut watched the flurry of activity around him.

Two other women entered the room with steaming buckets, and he heard water splashing as it filled a tub. Everyone seemed to be talking at once in their own language, which only added to his unease. 

He closed his eyes when he felt Aisla’s hands grip his upper and lower arm. The red-head rested her hands on his bare shoulders, ready to apply force to keep him down. 

Tuffnut allowed himself to relax and held his breath. 

\-----------------------------------------------------

Feeling him untense marginally beneath her hands, Merida nodded at Aisla, who yanked sharply. There was a snap and the boy tilted his chin up and swallowed a pained noise. After a long moment, gray-blue irises looked straight up into hers, with more curiosity this time than fear. 

He croaked a question and she looked to her mother.

“He’s asked for your name,” Elinor translated, having relinquished control in favor of watching how her daughter handled this. More and more often, Merida noticed, her mother tended to become a wall flower whenever Merida decided she wanted to take charge. It was empowering to have nobody scolding her for decisions, but also humbling when the occasional unwise decision led to chaos. 

“Merida,” she answered, as Effie set out the items she had requested. Merida noticed how the boy’s eyes categorized them nervously. Not wanting him to work himself up with fear again, she pointed to him and looked expectant. She wasn’t sure the answer she got back was a name or a nonsense word. “Tuffnut?” she repeated, tilting her head.

He nodded, eyes widening a little as Aisla threaded the needle. Merida longed to talk to him, even if just to distract him from this. Hands still on Tuff’s shoulders, she looked up to see her mother coming over. A gentle smile between her and Elinor told her all she needed. Elinor laid a hand on Tuff’s brow, causing the boy to look at her rather than at the needle. 

Tuffnut said something fast, sounding strained, and she nodded. 

“He dislikes needles, Aisla, to put it mildly. So make it quick as you can.” 

“Tell him not to worry,” the older woman said, as Merida washed out the wound on his upper arm and the bloodied skin around it. “I will.” 

\-----------------------------------------------------

“Tell me of your family. Do you have sisters or brothers?”

“Yeah, a sister. She’s my age, her name’s Ruffnut. It’s just us and our parents, when they’re home. They go on hunting trips a lot. Never really bring anything back though. So actually, it’s usually just us.” 

Tuffnut knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t help it. Getting his arm set was nothing; between him and Ruff they’d had their bones broken and reset dozens of times. Needles were a _completely_ different story.

A few nights before they’d started dragon-training, he’d snuck out and gotten a tattoo of a dragon on his hip. He hadn’t wanted to keep it from Ruffnut, but Snotlout had made an earlier disparaging comment about Tuff being ‘owned’ by his sister, and thus unable to do anything without her consent. The jerk had also promised to come with him instead, but had been a no-show down at the docks. 

The whole thing had been a disastrous idea. Trader Johann hadn’t been nearly as fast or skilled as he’d claimed to be, and Tuff had to get drunk in order to bear it. To add insult to injury, the finished work had ended up looking more like a vaguely dragon-shaped smudge than a tattoo. Maybe someday he’d get a better one, from someone who actually knew what they were doing.

“You have a twin?” Elinor asked, sounding surprised. “What is she like?”

“Loud, obnoxious, likes to hit people, especially me. She does it really well too. But she’s there when I need her. We usually get into all kinds of trouble. She would’ve been here too if we’d . . .” He stopped, realizing he’d been about to mention their Zippleback. 

Both Stoick and Hiccup had stressed that no-one must ever reveal the truth about their dragons to people they didn’t know, no matter how trustworthy they seemed. Elinor and Merida were possibly his allies now, but they would have stronger ties to their own people. 

A squeeze to his hand brought him out of his thoughts, as did the pull of thread through the wound on his arm. He hissed, tensing. Elinor made a soothing noise, gently preventing him from turning his head to look. “Easy, it’s almost over. Was this your first time sailing? How did you get here?” 

“How did I . . . what?” Distracted by pain, Elinor’s words made no sense for a moment. After a moment he realized he was going to have to associate himself with those same Norsemen who’d burned down that place, killed all those people. It made his stomach turn, but if he didn’t want to betray his village . . . 

“I got here by boat. But those Vikings aren’t with my tribe – the ones who attacked you. I promise, I _didn’t_ kill anyone, and I wasn’t going to!” 

Elinor made a soft shushing noise, but Tuffnut wasn’t certain if she believed him. How could she? He couldn’t even tell her the truth, and she had no reason to trust the flimsy excuse he’d just given. “Who are they? Why _were_ you with them?”

He could feel Aisla tying off the thread. The pulling sensation stopped, though he was horribly aware of _something_ beneath his skin. Warm water cascaded over his arm, and he saw pink and red droplets trailing over his chest. 

Tuffnut didn’t know the answer to her question. He didn’t know what to say. If she didn’t like the answer or figured out he was lying, what would happen? Conflicted and afraid, he kept silent. 

“Perhaps now isn’t the time to ask," Elinor was saying. She sounded so kind, enough to make him feel ashamed that he didn’t dare tell the truth. What had she and Merida risked to save _him?_

“I’m sorry.” It was lame, but it was all he had to offer, and he couldn’t meet the woman’s gaze. He didn’t see Elinor shake her head. 

“Nay, I was attempting to distract you and my own curiosity got the better of me. Distressing you further was not my intent. You need to rest and heal.” 

Elinor stroked a hand through his hair and Tuff nearly flinched; nobody had ever done that before. It felt good though, and he shut his eyes, feeling a sudden overwhelming need to be _home_ again. Stupid Hookfang. Stupid Fishlegs. Stupid Ruff, for not _being here._

“If I can prove I didn’t have anything to do with that attack, do I get to leave?” Tuff asked. It was a question he had dreaded to try, because the answer didn’t look good. If those warriors had wanted to kill him for amusement, why not keep him prisoner for the same reason? 

Elinor was quiet, still stroking his hair. “Truthfully, I don’t know if it’s possible. How _would_ we get you home? Can you imagine one of our boats arriving safely on your shores?”

Tuffnut swallowed, seeing the impossibility now. It was not a welcome realization that unless he found a dragon on this island and managed to tame it, he would likely never see home again. There was no way to send a message to Berk, he didn’t even know how far he was from the island or _where he was._ He looked up at Elinor, figuring he may as well figure that out at least. “What _is_ this place called?” 

“The island? The entire island is called Alba, or Skotland.” 

A sharp fear lanced through him at that name. “. . . Skotland? I’m in _Skotland?!_ ” He started to sit up in his panic and the pain made him lay back down before Elinor could calm him.

Trader Johann had told them many things about Skotland. He’d recounted a trip to their shores, upon which he’d met an army that had told him either he could go ashore and they’d take everything he’d owned, or they’d take everything anyway and kill everyone on board. He’d wisely chosen the former, watching helplessly as they gutted his ship to the bare bones, then laughing as he sailed away with barely enough food or water to make the journey to the next port. 

The Picts, as he’d called them, were vicious and hostile and their Gaelic language impossible to understand. The country was beautiful if you didn’t mind the horrid fog and bad weather, but you’d likely lose your head for daring to approach it. Tuffnut had thought he’d been terrified _before_ , but to find he was in such an unfriendly place? Even Outcast or Berserker Island would have been a better choice to land than here! 

He had been spared from execution thanks to Merida and Elinor, but to the rest of those dogs, he was a dried fish on a low hanging string. There would be no consequences if he were to be quietly murdered. No-one would come to avenge him, if they even found out what had happened. He could hear Elinor muttering anxiously and realized he was shivering violently. 

“You will not be harmed, Tuffnut, that I promise you,” he heard her saying. “Do you understand? Do you trust me?” 

Tuff managed a nod through the fear clouding his mind. All he wanted was his sister, even his parents – as absent as they’d always been in their lives. But it was a worthless thought and also cowardly; he focused on shutting down his emotions instead. 

Tuffnut swallowed, managing to get his tremors and harsh breathing under control, and tried again to sit up – slowly this time. 

Aisla and Effie stepped in to help him off the table, and then began to guide him to the back of the room where a tub of heated water awaited. He went along until he realized what it was for and stopped in his tracks. 

No. Being made to take a bath in front of strangers was _not_ something the teenaged boy was remotely comfortable with, certainly not right now. He didn’t doubt he was filthy from his horse-ride to the castle, but this was one indignity he could not handle on top of everything else. 

Elinor came to his rescue again, instructing the women to give him space. “The bath is more of an offering than a demand,” she assured him. “The state of your arm may cause difficulty with washing, and that is why we’re here to help if needed. We’re not here to force you.” Her eyes softened and she cupped his face in her hands. “We’re also not here to embarrass you to death.” 

That coaxed a small smile from him at least, and he glanced again at the tub. He wasn't fond of bathing, but at the same time, he did want to get the smell of horse and the pain-sweat off his skin. The water was hot, something that wasn't a practice in Berk, aside from special occasions. When you wanted to be clean, you plunged into a hole in the ice at worst, and into tepid thawed water at best.

He was given a small towel to wrap around his waist as he stepped out of his boots and leggings. Despite the covering, Tuff still felt remarkably exposed as he sunk down into the water. At least Merida had left the room; it was one less pair of eyes on him. He awkwardly drew his knees up as Effie knelt close to apply a clean linen bandage over the stitches in his arm, wrapping it so it wouldn’t get wet. 

With minimal fuss, Aisla and Effie helped him wash his hair and his back, and then thankfully went to the other side of the room while he washed everywhere else. 

Elinor came back to tease out the knots and mats in his hair with a comb, being surprisingly gentle about it. Tuffnut was nearly calm, lulled by the feel of a comb pulling without resistance through his long hair as he’d so often done for his sister. His hand absently went up to the dragon-tooth pendant around his neck, fingers brushing against it.

A bustle at the door made him look up sharply and upon seeing Merida, he sunk down farther. At least the water was cloudy now.

{Brought food!} Merida announced, carrying a tray of chicken, cheese, bread, and a few apples. It was a rather large amount for one boy, but she was rather hungry herself. There was a bowl of broth too, just in case he felt too nauseous for solid food. 

{You brought soup, good. He’s rather ill at ease.} Elinor said, eyeing the selection. She smiled at her daughter, knowingly. {And _you_ should eat too if you’re so famished.} 

{I brought some for you too, Mum. And anyhow, I had to load up and hurry in order to shake off the -} Merida’s explanation was cut off with an exasperated sigh as three blurs shot past her through the doorway. 

Tuffnut looked with surprised alarm at three identical faces clustered at his side, staring at him unabashedly. Elinor copied her daughter’s sigh, though more fondly. “Tuffnut, these are my sons - Hamish, Hubert, and Harris. If there’s any mischief in this castle, be sure they’re usually at the center of it.” 

He offered the triplets a nervous smile and they positively beamed back at him, one jabbering and pointing to his necklace. “He wishes to know what animal that belonged to,” Elinor translated patiently. 

“A bear,” Tuffnut answered quickly. Once again he had to lie to her, and he was surprised how much he was starting to hate that. “Our parents said it was a bear they killed a long time ago, on a hunt.” 

Elinor paused in combing his hair, but then kept brushing. She was silent as she tied his hair back, and then cleared her throat as though shaking something off. Had he said the wrong thing? She told his answer to Hamish and he blinked, before whispering to his brothers. In a flash, the three had disappeared again, scampering out of the room. 

“Okay . . . what was _that_ about?” 

“Never mind it, they’ve got a lot of curious things to poke their noses into tonight,” Elinor said, picking up a towel and handing it to him. She walked toward the table, back turned to him to give the boy privacy. Merida hastily did the same. “They’ll likely be back later, full of more questions. Can you drink some broth?” 

Tuff stood up shakily, drying off and then tying the towel around his waist as best as he could. It gave him a great deal more coverage than the small one he’d had to bathe in. “Uh . . . I’ll try,” he said, looking around in distress for his clothing. There was a folded pile on the bed, but he overlooked it completely in favor of his leggings, vest and tunic. 

“Ah,” said Elinor when she saw what he was looking for. “Your clothing is being washed. So in the meantime . . .” The articles she gestured to actually made Tuff recoil a few feet. 

“No. No _way_. I am _not_ wearing a skirt. What happened to not embarrassing me to death?” 

“It’s called a kilt. And you’ll get your clothes back once they’re clean. It’ll be better than a towel around your waist.”

“I’d almost _rather_ have a towel around my waist,” he snarked, glaring at the blue tartan. Elinor leveled a _look_ upon him and Tuffnut met it for a full five seconds before fidgeting and breaking eye contact. He glanced again at the offending garment, grumbling to himself, and then resigned to his fate with a sigh. 

“How do I put it all on?” 

\--------------------------------------------

There had been a standoff about the clothing; that much Merida could gather. She was actually impressed he’d tried to meet her mother’s infamous chilled stare for as long as he had. Most men she knew looked away and gave in _before_ it could land on them. 

Her mother was demonstrating how to fasten the plaid around his waist and though the boy was watching closely, he was clearly sulking. She hid her snort of amusement by biting into an apple, and the crunch brought his attention to her. He looked startled, as though he’d forgotten she was there. Tuffnut scowled and adjusted the towel tighter around him, tilting his head rudely toward the doorway. 

She raised a challenging eyebrow. Was he _ordering_ her to leave? Why just her? Aisla and Effie were busy emptying out the tub, and Elinor was standing not two feet away. She had every right to be here and besides, she was hungry. 

Merida didn’t budge, and he did it again – this time more forcefully, glaring at her meaningfully. Her mother enforced it with a shooing motion. Merida rolled her eyes to let him know how _ridiculous_ he was being before snagging a chicken leg and stepping out into the hall. 

His behavior was puzzling and irritating. She had three younger brothers that still ran around naked on humid summer days; it wasn’t as though she was some sheltered maid who’d never laid eyes on a bare bum. Why had he wanted her to get out? In a snit, Merida gnawed at her chicken, leaning her back against the closed door. 

After a few moments, however, her indignation at being singled out so rudely cooled into shame. This time last summer she had cared about no-one’s feelings or point of view but her own. All that had changed when she’d nearly lost her mother for her pride. So perhaps before she let pride get the best of her again, she should try to see things from the boy's side . . .

He was in a strange place, everyone speaking a different language, all the while dragging him across the land to have his head cut off – he’d probably not even known what was aft until he saw the axe waiting. That must have been terrifying. Honestly, he had every reason to be wary and vulnerable after what he’d just been through. 

Afterwards, he'd been treated to having his broken arm reset and wound stitched up . . . all acts of kindness, yes, though painful and also frightening. Even now with the food she’d brought up, he had no _control_ over what he was offered; no freedom of choice. They had saved him from death, not from being a prisoner. Was it fair for her to expect gratitude?

Her heart dropped, realizing how rude _she_ was being. Had she been in the same position, she would have demanded the same amount of respect and privacy, probably thrown something at his head. He was behaving surprisingly well under the circumstances. At length, chagrined by her realization, Merida turned back to the door and knocked lightly. 

“You can come in, Merida,” she heard her mother call. She reached for the door handle, and hesitated. 

“Ask Tuffnut if it’s alright,” she called back. There was a pause and Elinor exchanged words with the boy, who sounded surprised when he answered. 

Given the go-ahead, Merida entered and was treated with a sheepish though genuine smile from the boy. If she had still been angered, that smile alone would have melted it away. She returned it as she took in his appearance. Aisla had fashioned a sling for his injured arm, wrapping the injured limb with wool. His long hair was loosely tied back with a cord, and his face was clean of blood and dirt from the earlier melee. A woolen dark blue long-sleeved shirt covered his torso beneath a blue tartan plaid, belted at his waist above the kilt. 

He wore the DunBroch colors well, as uncomfortable as he seemed in them. Merida noticed there was a strain in the boy’s eyes as he fidgeted with the sleeves and belt, obviously not sure what to make of all this. Again she realized that the style of clothing was one more thing he was denied control over and she longed to know the words to comfort him with.

At least she had some means to communicate with him that didn’t rely on translation. Merida held up her bitten apple, taking another bite and then gesturing to the tray, indicating he could help himself. 

For a moment, he looked as though he was about to shake his head, but then he looked curiously at the fruit. Merida wondered if he’d ever seen an apple when he snatched its twin off the tray, turning it over and over in his hand. He sniffed at the red skin and then taking a small experimental bite. 

The taste seemed to surprise him and he grinned, taking another larger one. Merida giggled at his thunderstruck expression. At least he was learning that not all surprises in this place had to be bad ones. 

\----------------------------------------------

Merida had surprised him by asking permission to enter; he hadn’t expected that at all. _Merida_ was the one who lived in this weird place; she really could have just come back into the room without knocking. But she’d made a point to ask _him._

He finished off the crunchy sweet fruit, barring only the seeds and stem, and did the same to Merida’s apple core when she offered it up in amazement. For some reason, it amused her greatly to watch him eat apples and he wondered why she’d stopped while there was still so much fruit still left on it. The cheese and bread wasn’t half-bad either, though he couldn’t bring himself to eat the chicken past a few bites. The grease made it unappetizing, possibly due to nerves. 

It was late when Elinor bade him good night, looking pointedly at Merida to do the same. She’d squeezed his good arm, telling him something, and though he couldn’t understand it, he got the meaning well enough. Before he could reply she was out of the room, red hair disappearing out the doorway.

“These are your chambers tonight,” Elinor told him, placing a gentler hand on his shoulder. “I advise you to stay in, at least while the other Lords and their men are here.” 

“Lords?” he asked, not understanding the term. "Do you mean the warriors?" 

“Aye, the men that brought you here,” she explained and he nodded, swallowing uneasily. Tuff watched her head for the door and bit his lip, wishing he could ask her to stay. He’d decided he didn’t want to be alone after all. The moment came and passed, and after a final good night, Elinor had left the room, shutting the door softly behind her.

Tuffnut looked at the too-soft bed again and sighed. He may as well try and sleep, since he didn’t want to try his luck with the famous hostility of the Picts. Lying down on the bed, he attempted to relax. Everything hurt when he laid on his back or side, and sleeping on his stomach was impossible due to his arm. And how in Thor's name did anyone sleep on such treacherously soft surfaces? This was getting stupid. 

He snagged two pillows and the comforter off the bed and headed over to the seat by the barred window. It offered a clear view of the sky and he paused while laying the blanket down over the cold stone. Numbly, he sat down, resting his arm over the pillow between his chest and knees and wondering what Ruff was doing or thinking just now. 

Something seemed to hit him hard and fast in the chest, and the events of the day crumpled him from within. Hitching on a sob, the first of many, Tuff curled over, burying his face in comforting darkness. His hand curled around the dragon-tooth pendant hard enough that his palm would bear an imprint the next morning, but at length, he finally fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn’t an unknown thing for the Thorston Twins to cause trouble before sunrise, but this was the first time Tuff had ever caused trouble just by _waking up._

The hand on his shoulder had startled him badly, plus the disorientation of being on the floor rather than in his bed. Last night, he’d dreamed of being home, as though he’d never left, so logically his first thought had been that Ruff had shoved him onto the floor to wake him. A life-long regime of sibling retaliation made him throw a punch at the person still gripping his shoulder. Fist impacted flesh as usual, but the scream that reached his ears did not belong to his sister. 

Tuffnut stared in confused amazement at the bawling older woman who he had apparently decked. Who the heck was she? “Lady, what are you . . .” He trailed off, slowly separating dream from reality as his eyes swept over the upturned tray of food and beverage. Oh crap. 

Summoned by the distressed wailing, footsteps pounded down the corridor to the room. Tuff winced and got up, reaching out to try and help the distraught lady sit up. Hitting Ruff was fine – she could best him any day. This lady apparently didn’t know she could hit him back if she wanted to. Even now, she let out another scream and flailed to get away from him. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it. Could you please, _please_ stop crying before-”

The door to his room slammed open, allowing three woad-painted warriors from Lord Macintosh’s clan to barge in. All of them looked at the woman, a nice bruise already showing up on her cheek. In the next second, Tuff’s back was slammed against the wall and the blade of a dagger pressed against his throat.

{I knew you for a dog, but no-one ever thought you’d be so _cowardly_ as to attack a woman for bringing your morning bread!} the man holding the knife spat. 

Tuff blanched, but lifted his head. None of the words made sense, but he knew what had the man upset. “Hey idiot, listen, I didn’t mean to hit anyone but my sister. Who isn’t here, but that lady was right where _she_ would have been. So I’m sorry, okay?” The man gave no response, other than to shake him viciously. “Ugh. Ow. _Not_ okay, I guess.”

{Some fighter you are, eh? Some _bodyguard_ you’ll make, what hits defenseless women! Careful, boy - let your true colors shine and they’ll forget how well you fight and gut you like the pig you are!} The warrior sneered. He plunged the knife into the wood, directly beside Tuff’s ear, making the boy flinch. Pleased that he’d intimidated the Viking, the man grinned toothily. 

Tuff’s eyes narrowed. While it was true he couldn’t understand the language, he knew when he was being insulted and threatened. The sensible thing to do would be to appear cowed and apologetic, until he could explain what had happened. Yet a Thorston being sensible was a notion unheard of in the long annals of their genealogical history, and it wasn’t about to start with Tuffnut. 

He grabbed the warrior’s wrist, hand still holding the knife, and anchored him in place to receive a hard kick to the ribs. The man shouted, staggering back, and left his knife in the wood, as Tuffnut had planned. He yanked it out and walked forward, head held high. Body language was all he had to offer, and Tuffnut was not about to let anyone think he was afraid of them, no matter how terrified he really was. He tossed the knife down between the warrior’s feet, surprised when it actually embedded itself upright into a knot in the wood. Tuff spat at his feet, every inch of him dripping with disdain. 

The man’s eyes widening gave Tuffnut a thrill of victory; he’d successfully showed the jerk that he wasn’t going to be scared easy. What Tuffnut didn’t expect was the howl of fury that erupted, as the man snatched up his weapon. He backed up hurriedly as the dagger sliced in an arc, nearly losing his nose by an inch. Shit, this wasn’t good. He needed a weapon himself, and one arm was broken, uselessly bound across his chest! Tuff ducked another swing and lunged for his only hope – a poker from the fireplace. Hitting the ground in a somersault, he snatched it up to catch the dagger’s next blow. It was hard enough to vibrate the length of iron and he swung, hoping to knock the dagger from the warrior’s hand. 

The man delivered a kick to Tuff’s broken arm, forcing a yell of pain out of him. He fell back, hitting the hearth. That was a cheap shot, even by Viking standards. As the man advanced, he let go of the poker to grab a handful of soot and wood-chunks, flinging it into his opponent’s face. Yelling and cursing as he wiped his stinging eyes, the man lost track of Tuffnut until an elbow to the nose sent blood spurting. The boy kicked the dagger out of the stunned warrior’s hand and raised the poker. 

{Enough! I’ve had enough!} the man sputtered, raising one hand, as one tried to stem the flow of blood. Tuff hesitated and then looked at the other two warriors, wondering why they hadn’t joined in. They were both looking at him with a mixture of fear and contempt, ready to jump in if it meant saving the life of their companion. It struck him then; they actually expected him to try to murder his opponent, even after he’d yielded. 

Disgusted, Tuff dropped the poker and backed away. The two men relaxed visibly and went to help up their bleeding friend. He watched, noting that the woman had left, no doubt to tell everyone how he’d ruthlessly attacked her. Tuff swallowed, trying not to look as anxious as he felt. One of the warriors said something to the other, too low for him to hear, clearly about him. Tuff watched them turn to leave and stiffened as another figure blocked their exit. 

It was a great bear of a man, with the same fiery red hair as Merida. Wasn’t he a sort of Chieftain here? Tuffnut recognized him vaguely from last night; he hadn’t been speaking out for him necessarily. But neither had he spoken against him . . . 

With dread, he watched as the warriors quickly filled in what had happened, while supporting the still-bleeding man between them. He had to suppress a shudder as Fergus looked at him keenly. {Did he now? Well, I’ll have to have a little chat with him, won’t I? You run along, assure Lord Macintosh that _I’ve_ taken the young ruffian in hand. Oh and take care of your friend there, he looks a bit concussed.}

Fergus actually had to duck to enter the room and he shut the door between himself and the corridor with a finality that made Tuff want to curl into a ball. But Vikings didn’t curl up into little balls of terror, certainly not when they had sisters who’d never let them hear the end of it. He raised his chin, shoulders pressing into the stone wall behind him. Perhaps he’d be lucky and the large man would only beat him, rather than put him to the sword? 

But the red-headed giant only smirked. “You’ve certainly stirred the hornet’s nest this morning. What was all that about?” he asked. Tuffnut’s jaw dropped. 

“You can understand me?!” he squawked. “How?”

“I speak Norse, yeah. Course I’m a bit rusty, I haven’t had to in a long time, not for a couple decades now. The point is, I’ve been around in areas thick with Danes – a man has to travel when he’s young and restless. Isn’t that what’s landed _you_ in this mess?”

“What – travel? I . . . uh, yeah, I guess you could call it traveling. Though it’s not that big a mess so long as you don’t kill me.” 

That caused Fergus to roar with laughter and slap his knee, not exactly a reassuring gesture. “Lad, you’re going to be my daughter’s bodyguard! If that doesn’t kill you, then you’re nigh indestructible,” he chuckled. “Now why don’t you tell me why those warriors brought a quarrel to you?”

“Oh, they thought I punched out that lady, but I didn’t. That is, I didn't _mean_ to. She kinda startled me awake, you know? And also I kinda spat at one of them after he threatened me. And maybe broke his nose, but only after he kicked me!” The rest of Fergus’ words caught up with him. He blinked. “I’m your daughter’s _what_ , now?”

\-------------------------------------------

Sunrise spread gentle fingers of light throughout the room, illuminating the dust motes in the air. At length, they touched the bed of a sleeping girl who mumbled and turned over on her side, seeking escape. It had been a very long night for Merida, as well as Elinor. After they’d left the boy, her mother had wanted to talk. Any hope that Elinor would not be furious at her rash declaration was certainly squashed, even though that fury was at least tempered with understanding. 

“I know you wanted to save his life, but to place him as your _bodyguard_ , Merida?” Elinor had nearly shouted. “What were you thinking?” 

“Mum, I . . . well I wasn’t really thinking, I just needed to stop what was happening!”

“And therein lies the problem – you weren’t _thinking!_ Merida, you must always plan out the idea before you go and announce it. Being spur of the moment . . . well it’s you, aye, but it often creates more problems than it solves! For instance, how do I explain the _concept_ of a bodyguard to the boy, let alone convince him he should do it?” 

Merida blinked. “Wait a second . . . you said he’d agreed to it!” Which had been a suspiciously _fast_ agreement, coming from a Viking. Well, now that she thought of it. “Mum, did you tell everyone a great fat _fib?_ ”

The look on Elinor’s face was anything but amused. “In order to not make my daughter look like a reckless fool who doesn’t think before she speaks? Yes, I did, and I didn’t enjoy a second of it!” She sighed, pained. “Merida, I am glad that you spoke up to save him. It created an . . . opportunity to right a wrong. That boy does not deserve to die. He’s homesick, adrift in a strange land and there’s no way I can think of to get him back home. Certainly not with the claim that we have just made for him. A claim that if he _refuses_ . . . Well, do you see the problem?” 

Yes, she did. Merida looked down at her feet, ashamed. “If I could have thought of anything else to say, I would have said it. I’m sorry . . . now I’ve bound him here, haven’t I?” 

“Little more than I have,” Elinor sighed. “We will right it, somehow. I just . . . I don’t _like_ the thought of him being your bodyguard, Merida. He wants to go home so _badly_ . . . if you’re ever threatened by Norsemen who give him that option, what if . . .?”

Merida looked up, gasping. “You think he’d betray me?” Flashes of the way he’d looked at her, pleading for help, his sheepish smile, even the way he ate apples . . . she couldn’t fathom it. 

“Are you so sure he wouldn’t? You haven’t known him for a day, you can’t say he’d never do it. Imagine if it were you, captured by Vikings, with the only way to live perhaps to marry one of them? Would you not do _anything_ to get back home?” 

She shuddered. “Aye . . . I would not settle. I _couldn’t_.” 

Elinor nodded, glad at least that Merida understood. “I had hoped you would pick a more experienced warrior, one who was from our clan, with _your_ best interests at heart. But then again, maybe there is a reason you claimed him that I have not seen yet. I do want to trust him, Merida. My heart is not closed to the _possibility_ that he will be there for you when you need him.” She looked out the window, sighing. “But as a mother, I cannot help but want the _best_ for you.”

Merida stepped forward and hugged her mother. “I know, Mum. Thank you. For that, and for standing behind me on this.”

She chuckled softly, stroking her daughter’s wild locks as though she was but a child again. “You won’t be thanking me after the months and months of language lessons I’ll be subjecting you both to. If he agrees.” 

“What if he doesn’t?” Merida asked, looking up at her. 

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Hopefully he’ll at least try to learn how to communicate with us. The less alienated he feels, the less likely he is to do something reckless. Like try to run.” 

They had talked more on the subject, until Merida could barely keep her eyes open and even Elinor was stifling yawns. Eventually, the young woman had stumbled to bed, though not without first passing the room Tuffnut was in. She heard soft noises and frowned pressing her ear to the door. What she heard almost made her open the door and go inside, but she stopped herself. If she’d learned anything about the boy so far, it was that his dignity was important to him. Elinor had mentioned he had a twin, a sister. 

Merida well remembered the winter that Hamish had fallen deathly ill after falling into the well. They’d fished him out and made a fuss, but he’d caught such a dreadful chill. Harris and Hubert had been beside themselves, lost without their companion. It had actually been the quietest, most depressing season Merida could ever remember, just seeing the bereft and dim expressions on her brother’s faces, as though a part of their souls had been snuffed out. 

Tuffnut was going through the same thing, most likely, but worse for him – he didn’t know whether his sister was alright. Had she been battling beside him when they were separated? Did he wonder whether she still lived? And if she did, then she likely was going through the same feeling of loss, the same tormented questions. Merida went on to her room, shut the door, and lay down on the bed, crying a fair bit herself out of guilt. Perhaps exhaustion had something to do with it as well, for she fell asleep with tears still on her face. 

Rather than the sunlight’s gentle nudging, it was hysterical screaming that snapped Merida’s eyes opened, sending her to sit bolt upright in bed. She tumbled out, smoothing out her clothing and ran for the door to see what was the matter. 

Maudie ran past her room down the corridor, arms up and crying loudly. Staring in bewilderment for a moment, she registered the direction Maudie had been running from. “Ach, it’s just barely past sunrise!” she moaned. “Tell me it was a large rat, just not _him!_ ” The boy hardly needed more trouble than he was already in. Maudie tended to overreact just a titch to things. 

As she turned the corner, she nearly tripped over Hamish, Hubert and Harris. Each face looked up at her in alarm, urgently putting fingers to their lips. Merida hid along with them, ignoring Harris’ peeved mutterings as he batted her hair out of his vision. Three warriors burst out of Tuffnut’s room, two carrying the third. Fergus’ unmistakable footsteps preceded him around the corner, giving Merida and her brothers time to press flat out of sight. 

The words exchanged made Merida nearly gasp. Tuffnut had _attacked_ Maudie? But why? She grimaced at the promise her father made and nearly ran out to stop him. There had to be a misunderstanding here. As Lord Macintosh’s men headed their way, Hamish, Harris and Hubert abruptly scattered. Merida scrambled for a second, running for the nearest door and slipping inside as the men passed. By the time she cautiously approached Tuffnut’s door, she heard laughter coming from inside. Her father was talking – in a language she hadn’t heard him use before now. Curious, she glimpsed inside. Her red hair naturally betrayed her and Fergus saw her, jovially beckoning her in. 

“Come on then, I know you and those little terrors heard most of that,” Fergus smiled.

“Most of what? Dad, what on earth happened?” Merida questioned, after greeting Tuffnut. He was looking at her like she’d grown two extra heads, but Merida would let it slide for now. “Why was that man bleeding and why was Maudie running through the halls in hysterics?”

“You ask like all that’s _unusual_ around here,” Fergus replied, shrugging. Merida rolled her eyes. “In any case, I don’t think your mother explained just what Tuffnut’s supposed to be doing here.” 

“Uh . . .” At a loss, Merida looked at Tuffnut, now able to ken his bewildered expression. She bit her lip. “No. Not really.” 

“Ah,” Fergus said, cheerfully. “Well, _this_ is going to be rather interesting to explain.”


	6. Chapter 6

It was impossible to wrap his mind around. The girl needed a bodyguard? For what reason? Tuff looked pointedly at the weapon girded around her waist but before he could ask for any decent explanation, a tumult outside drew Fergus’ attention. The large man frowned and walked over to the window to see what was afoot and Merida did the same.

Slightly exasperated but curious as to what all the shouting was about, Tuffnut sidled up next to Merida, nearly shoving her aside. She scowled and elbowed her way back into the space and he almost grinned; the non-verbal argument reminded him of Ruff. But what he saw down below soon wiped the smile off his face.

Men with faces burnt and clothing singed were limping into the castle, many having to help or carry others. They were shouting over each other, arguing loudly and one word caught Tuffnut’s ear – one that needed no translation.

_Dreugan . . ._

Oh Gods . . . had they found Hookfang? It had to have been him; had these men encountered a wild dragon they would have been much worse off. Their injuries looked as though Hookfang had burst into flames and rolled on them a couple times, true, but a wild dragon would have done so much worse.

It also raised the question of whether they had managed to kill Hookfang – a possibility Tuffnut really didn’t want to accept. The idiot dragon wasn’t his, but he’d developed affection for all the dragons, aside from just Barf and Belch. Hookfang was at times cranky and temperamental, but he had a sense of humor and sass that Tuffnut appreciated – especially because Snotlout usually bore the brunt of it. He had no trouble admitting that it was pretty funny to watch. The thought of the Monstrous Nightmare dead left a hollow feeling of despair in his heart.

”What are they saying?” he asked, but Fergus was already striding quickly toward the door, leaving him with Merida. He expected her to leave him hanging as well, but much to his consternation she grabbed his hand and pulled him after her. Tuff went along, but he frowned, still not able to reconcile with the fact he was little better than a hired body to her.

Vikings of Berk did _not_ have bodyguards. He’d heard of other chieftains hiring men to fight for them in times of warfare, and those were called _hiromen_. They were little better than mercenaries; paid with gold for their service rather than the promise of glory and honorable death in battle. But no Chieftain in the history of Berk had ever needed to hire men to stand by them in battle! The entire village stood behind the Chieftain in times of crisis, no matter what happened, and he had been raised on that truth. Tuff rather doubted the Picts were going to pay him anything to protect this girl, not that he’d accept their gold anyway if they did. So that meant they were going to force him to, on pain of death. And Elinor had known this all along? The betrayal stung bitterly. He’d thought the older woman was on his side.

Merida chose an alcove where she could hear what was going on, looking over in surprise as Tuff yanked his hand away. He scowled and did not look at her, coolly staring down at the men. Fergus appeared before them and shouted down the resulting clamor as all tried to tell their story at once. It was a cacophony of words he did not understand and Tuff grit his teeth, frustrated and afraid for Hookfang. “Are you all right?” Merida asked, and though Tuffnut could not understand her words, he heard the meaning in her tone. He gestured helplessly down to the men and looked at her, trying to convey his need to understand them. Merida tilted her head, then looked down at the men again, uncertain as to what was upsetting the boy so much.

{The raiders were many and they attacked in broad daylight! They hurled flaming bombs ashore from their dragon ship, but our archers didn’t let them moor! Off course they went and somewhere past the cape!} One man was informing her father. (We didn’t follow – but if they show their faces, we’ll kill them all!} Other voices rang through the air, agreeing heartily.

Tuffnut surprised her by speaking. “Dragon . . .” he said, loudly, pointing at the men. She looked at him as he made a slicing motion across his throat. “Dragon?!” he asked again, all but shaking her by the shoulders.

{Ahh – what? A-Are you asking if the raiders killed anyone?}

He didn’t answer, just staring at her and looking more distressed than ever. Merida put her hands on his arms, trying to calm him. {Easy. Lets go see my mum, right? Come on.} Tuff grit his teeth, unwilling to leave their position. He looked at the men hard, trying to find dragon teeth, horns, scales, claws – anything a warrior may have taken as trophy. He only allowed Merida to budge him when he’d satisfied himself that no remnant of the Monstrous Nightmare rested in their hands.

* * *

{Calm down, Maudie, please,} Elinor was saying to her frightened lady in waiting. {I’m sure this is a misunderstanding. We’ll get some cool mugwort tonic on your cheek and the bruise will fade in no time.}

{He was fightin’ with Lord Macintosh’s men, like a demon! Oh m’lady, why did ye let him free to roam? He would’ve killed me, I’m sure!}

{Maudie, be reasonable, he wouldn’t have killed you. He’s a frightened boy. I will be having a talk with him about what he did, and he’ll apologize – you’ll see. All will be right in the end,} Elinor sighed.

The lady in waiting shook her head frantically. {Nay, I’d sooner not see him again!}

{Maudie –} Whatever Elinor had been about to say was lost in the excitable woman’s shriek at someone in the doorway. She barged out the other way, bawling inconsolably. Elinor cried out after her, and then turned to regard her daughter and the Norse boy in question. “Well, Tuffnut. I’ve heard you raised a bit of a ruckus this morning with breakfast. Mind telling me what happened?” she asked calmly, folding her arms.

Tuff’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t mind telling _you_ what happened, so long as _you_ don’t mind telling _me_ what happened!”

Elinor’s brow wrinkled in confusion at his words. “Er . . . what?”

Tuffnut opened his mouth to explain his outburst, but was immediately interrupted as Fergus burst in behind him, nearly flattening the boy against the wall with the door. {There’s a been a Norse dragon-ship sighted, Lass! In daylight no less – it attacked the coast nearby. I’ve got to lead a hunt ‘round the cape.}

{. . . What?!} Elinor cried. {A Viking ship!?}

{Aye. We’ll kill em on sight and bring back the figure-head. It’ll make a nice trophy, don’t ye think?}

{I’d rather have a living husband than a trophy! You’ll do no such thing! We haven’t had raiders sail so close to the shore in daylight, let alone directly attack!}

Fergus looked immediately flustered. This was obviously not the response he’d anticipated. {But . . . but we can’t let them get away!}  
{Let them! Keep watch for further activity, but don’t go embarking after a possible decoy! All you’ll do is be out there at sea when our people need you here to ward against further attack!} Elinor’s tone was firm.

{But . . .} Fergus sighed, relenting in the face of wisdom. {Lass, ye have a point. We’ll watch closely for now. If they attack again, then we’ll show no mercy.}

He kissed her and left to regroup the eager men outside. Elinor watched after him for a moment, turning back to Tuffnut. The boy had lost his confrontational stance, leaning against the wall and looking pale. Merida looked at her mother and shook her head, looking just as confounded as the older woman. “Tuffnut, what’s wrong?” Elinor asked gently.

Tuffnut looked up at her and sighed shakily. “Why . . . did you lie? I don’t want to be her bodyguard. Or anyone’s. I don’t. I want to go home. You can’t make me stay here . . .” But it was hopeless wasn’t it? He didn’t have to understand Gaelic to understand what was going to happen to Hookfang. The dragon was going to be killed, horribly, if he wasn’t dead already. And there was nothing Tuff could do to stop it.

He was more shocked than anything when Elinor embraced him tightly. “I am so, so sorry. It was the only thing we could do to protect you. We had to lie, not just to you. To everyone. We had to tell them all you’d agreed to it.”

Tuffnut wanted to shove her away but found he couldn’t bring himself to. “But why does she need anyone to protect her? She has a sword. On Berk, we grow up protecting ourselves as soon as we can walk – didn’t you do the same for her? If it’s so dangerous living here didn’t you teach her?”

Elinor looked at him in surprise. “Fergus taught her to fight with sword and bow. She is second to no-one in archery. Merida can protect herself very well.” Tuffnut looked at her, not having the energy to interrupt. “Because I am her mother, it wasn’t enough for me that she knew how to fight. I wanted someone to be there for her – someone she could trust as a comrade. Someone who would fight beside her in battle, who wanted to be there. We did not plan on it being you. I placed the task of choosing such a companion in Merida’s hands. I should have guessed she would choose you in order to save you from death.” The boy glanced over at Merida, who’d been surprisingly quiet this whole time. She offered him a smile, curious as to what on earth they were talking about.

”Ohhh. I get it. Because she’s a girl, everyone thinks she needs a man to protect her, even though she can fight just as well as any man, if not better. It’s stupid, but I understand. I have to be the man who rides beside her and ‘protects her’ so everyone else will let her be.” Tuffnut looked at Elinor, whose eyes were wide with surprise. “And also so they won’t call you a bad mother, for letting her be herself?”

”They don’t call me a bad mother . . “ Elinor started to say, but he interrupted.

”Not to your face they don’t. Our mom gets flack too, for raising Ruff the way she did. My sister’s really competitive – even though women can technically fight and divorce and have as many rights as a man in our village, she still has to work twice as hard to be considered as good as any of the boys. She takes it out on me a lot, but she doesn’t mean to. It’s hard for her. It’s probably hard for both of you. Because you’re both struggling to be free and still be respected. You’re so used to struggling; you don’t even know you are.”

What . . . on earth? Elinor’s jaw had dropped slightly. “Your village . . . is very different from ours, isn’t it?” she asked, in wonder. Once they understood one another, he and her daughter were going to get along famously.

Tuff managed a wan smile. “In a lot of ways, yeah.” He looked toward the window, gathering his courage. “So . . . what’s going to happen to the dragon?”

Elinor shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Dragon? There’s no dragon. It was another raider’s ship that attacked. You are concerned with the fate of those on board?”

Relief coursed through him, and Tuffnut exhaled, shaking his head. He still felt guilty for hiding the truth from her, but not enough to tell her yet. Hookfang must have indeed flown on to other islands; hopefully back to Berk.

Letting the matter drop, Elinor let go of Tuffnut and turned to her daughter. She spoke in Gaelic to Merida for a moment, and then looked back at Tuffnut. “Tomorrow, you will start to learn our language, and Merida will learn yours. It’s time you two got to properly know one another.”

* * *

Dinner was as ever a noisy affair in Castle Dunbroch. With the addition of the clans Macintosh, Dingwall and MacGuffin, it was a cacophony of sound. Servants were bustling, serving ale and bread and boar’s meat, and the triplets ran underfoot – testing the patience of all they encountered, but generally going unnoticed. They’d been to the trophy room and they’d looked long and hard, but the facts remained . . . there was no way that tooth around the Norse boy’s neck had belonged to a bear. In fact it hadn’t belonged to any predator their father had ever hunted, not even the very last wolf in Scotland that their grandfather had killed – and that had been a monster. It was a mystery, and one the brothers were determined to get to the bottom of.

Harris watched Tuffnut like a hawk as he ate, seated between Fergus and Merida, while Hubert and Hamish whispered conspiratorially to one another. Tuffnut did his best to ignore him, slowly going mad just from the boredom of having everyone talking gibberish around him. Fergus was telling a story, that much he knew, and Merida chimed in occasionally, making others at the table laugh out loud. He bit his lip, focusing on just eating his dinner and trying to ignore the sting of being left out. It was some kind of sheep dish – _haggis_ , Elinor had called it. Well, it tasted weird, but it was better than most of what passed on Berk as food. At least there were apples at the table as well as boar meat, cheese, and bread.

The ale . . . oh gods, it was horrid. If the entire nation of Skotland put that into their mouths and called it a good drink, small wonder they were violent. A mere sip of Viking mead on the other hand would probably make them as docile as baby Gronckles. Tuff’s uncle had a home-made recipe that Stoick the Vast had outlawed. If he could only remember it . . .

The only reason he was sitting at the table was because he’d refused to be left alone again; last night had been miserable. Tuffnut wanted company, but he hadn’t expected to still feel so . . . alone. Everyone was talking, laughing, cheering, drinking . . . and he couldn't understand a word of it. It was almost worse than being left alone in an empty room for the night. After he finished his food, he tried to catch Elinor’s eye, but she had excused herself momentarily to talk to one of the servants. Tuff sighed and pushed his plate aside, getting up from the table. He knew the way back to his room well enough anyway. He muttered good night, and went unnoticed into the corridor between the dining hall and the kitchens.

At least, he thought he did. It wasn't until two turns later that he realized he was hopelessly lost . . . and that someone had followed. Tuff saw stars as his head was slammed against the door of a linen closet and he yelped as he was shoved inside it. He stumbled and tripped over a basket, landing hard on his arm. Tuff cried out in pain and scrambled to get upright but was slammed against the shelves, sending linens tumbling down on him. A kick landed to his ribs and another to his hip, hard enough to knock the breath out of him. He swallowed his agony as the beating continued, all the while struggling to throw off the sheets that tangled him helplessly against his opponent. A hand gripped his hair, pulling him to his feet harshly.

{You Danish _scum_ ,} a voice snarled in his ear. {Think you lot are clever, aye? I bet you knew they were attacking all along, and you said nothing! We lost good men today, boy. All because of you!}

The man slammed Tuff’s head hard into a shelf, leaving his mouth and nose bleeding. Tuff did not struggle, cocooned in a tight web of tangled linens. He hitched painfully and gasped as the cold metal of a blade pressed against his neck.

{I’m not gonna kill you, though I very well can. Remember that. And remember for the rest of your life that you’re now nothing but a dog, begging for scraps at the high table.} The blade moved, though instead of tearing flesh, it cut through thick strands of Tuffnut’s hair, through the braids that Elinor had so carefully and patiently pleated, dropping them to the floor.

Perhaps Tuffnut was at times ridiculously proud of his long hair – longer almost than his sister’s – but to a Viking, long hair was a sign of strength and power. Only _slaves_ had short hair. The sudden shock of air on the back of his neck and the gravity of what it meant rendered him completely still.

Someone’s shout from the end of the corridor made his attacker let him go abruptly, fleeing from discovery. Tuffnut slid down the wall to his knees, frantically running his hand through his shorn locks. A gentle hand touched his shoulder and he looked up shakily, expecting to see Merida or Elinor. The person he saw instead was a boy with a shock of yellow hair, sticking straight up, as though he’d been on the receiving end of a lightning bolt. The boy didn’t say a word, instead helping untangle him from the sheets. Tuffnut allowed him to help, lacking the energy to do it himself. He should have known he’d be attacked; hadn’t other Vikings just launched flaming missiles earlier that morning at the shore? Of course they would associate him with that and lash out accordingly. He was so stupid to think he was safe walking alone.

Tuff said nothing as the boy slipped under his good arm, helping him limp along the corridor. He kept his face down, devastated and thoroughly humiliated. The boy said something, leading him into a room with two other boys. They approached cautiously, raising their hands as Tuff flinched away from them hard. For a moment he felt betrayed; had he only been rescued to be another group’s target? He recognized the blue-paint of the tallest boy and nearly panicked – remembering that this was the same boy he’d kicked in a very sensitive place less a day before. Tuffnut grit his teeth, tensed for more harsh treatment, and was surprised when a hand lightly grasped his arm instead. The blond boy returned to his side and though he spoke nonsense at him, he was smiling, offering a mug of drink. Tuff made no move to take it, not understanding anything. Overcome with pain and dizziness, he didn’t struggle when the biggest boy – the same that had reminded him of Fishlegs earlier – made him sit in a chair, pressing a clean cloth to his bloody face. It was then that the blond youth spoke just one word he could sort of understand.

{Cider,} he said, and offered the mug again. Tuffnut could see that it was warm and he must have looked wary because the wild-haired youth took a sip of it and exhaled, making a show of being satisfied. He offered the mug again and Tuffnut shakily took it, sniffing and then carefully sipping the contents. It wasn’t mead, but it wasn’t that weird depressing ale from dinner either. Hot mulled cider, tasting of apples, cloves and cinnamon, warmed a path down his throat and settled in his stomach. Tuffnut licked his lips and drained the rest of it, perhaps taking far too much comfort in the delicious drink than he should have. He did not flinch away again when the boys sat beside and across from him at the small table. Though they talked to each other in their own language, the straw-haired boy laid a protective arm across Tuff’s shoulders and somehow he didn’t feel nearly as alienated as before. Wearily, he rested his head in his arms folded over the table and simply let the words wash over him.

{Who attacked him?}

{Probably one of the MacGuffin clan,} sighed Keir, speaking in his thick dialect. {Not that I’m proud of admitting it, but we’ve been getting ‘it pretty hard by the raiders. Lots of men ha’ lost both property an’ kin. And ye should have heard the dark mutterings after Queen Elinor endorsed him as a bodyguard.}

{What’s the big deal with that, anyway? I should think men would be happy to be let off that particular hook,} Lachlan Macintosh snorted. By now he’d been around Keir long enough to understand his accent. {I think it might be a good idea; letting a Viking handle it.}

{Aye, but he’s our age. And he’s got just about every clan in Scotland after his blood, ye ken? So he’ll protect Merida, but who will protect him?}

{Wait, who said anything about protecting him? Don’t ye recall that night past? He fought like a lion!}

{So? An outnumbered lion can still get killed. We need to help him.} Gavin Dingwall stated firmly. His companions looked at each other, than stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

{Help him? Help the Viking? Have ye gone daft!?} Lachlan protested. {Don’t ye know what it is they do? What’s to stop him from turning on us like a dog?}

{Oh come off of it, I led him here like a meek lamb after what they did to him! He’s in bad shape; I bet you his arm’ll need reset again, and he’s turned the cloth red with his blood.} Gavin actually sounded upset and Tuff turned his head a little to gaze at him, wondering why. {We should help him, at least escort him to his room, aye? And maybe one of us go and tell Queen Elinor what’s aft?}

{Not it!}

{Not – _blast_ it. Alright, fine, I’ll go.} Lachlan got up, grumbling. The boy gave Tuffnut a jaunty salute as he left the room and walked down the corridor.

Keir and Gavin each stood, helping Tuffnut stand shakily on his own two feet. Where they started leading him, Tuffnut didn’t know, but he felt oddly protected, limping between the two lads as they took him to another room. Things started to look a little familiar on the way; he’d really been turned around before. He looked from Gavin’s cheery smile to Keir’s calm and thoughtful countenance, and then attempted a broken smile of his own. He hoped that maybe he could now count these boys – Lachlan included – among his few friends.

* * *

Merida had not noticed when Tuffnut had slipped away, but she cursed herself now for not noticing as she tended to the Norse boy’s swollen cheek and lip. He had made no move to refuse being touched or handled, simply sitting there on the bed. Her mother had been furious at the injury done to one of her charges and had promised Tuffnut that she would find out and punish who had attacked him. Tuffnut hadn’t so much as blinked, simply staring at the wall. A couple times his eyes had glistened, but no tears had yet fallen that Merida could see. When she sat next to him on the bed, he didn’t so much as glance at her. “I don’t suppose you’re mad at me, hmm? You’ve every right to be. We’ve let ye down. This should‘nae have happened.”

When Tuff didn’t respond, she reached out and gently touched his shoulder. He flinched a little, but did not pull away from her. Merida could feel him trembling beneath her fingers. She bit her lip, then spied a brush and scissors lying on the table not far away. Who ever had cut his hair had done an awful hack job, several pieces longer than others. Merida picked the brush up and looked at him, trying to convey that she only wanted to help him. Tuffnut glanced at her then, at the brush, and shrugged, not looking her in the eye.

He closed his eyes as she gently combed the stray bits out of his shorn hair, bowing his head under her gentle hands. Not long after, he felt the gentle snipping of scissors, evening out the mess his attacker had left behind. His shoulders tensed, but Tuffnut didn’t pull away.

It wasn’t until Merida started to sing, quietly and under her breath, as she brushed his hair again, that he curled forward, shaking. “I’m sorry,” Merida said softly, wrapping an arm around him. Tuffnut surprised her by leaning into the embrace, if only just a little. She kept singing gently, only a little off key, and it wasn’t long before the boy was half-conscious, all but snoring against her shoulder. God, but he was heavy. Smiling fondly, she tried to lay him on his side on the bed, only for him to pull her down with him, arms and legs pinning her. Merida nearly yelped as he curled around her protectively, muttering a name into her hair. She recognized it and softened, disentangling herself as gently as possible, trying not to wake him.

As she left the room, she made a quiet vow to him that somehow she would find a way to see him home.


End file.
